Feb. 1,2016

Dear Christine,

Finally I am having time to write what I have been thinking of in these days since
your mom's final illness. My condolences again on her death. My congratulations on
your good care of her in her sunset years.

Aunt Char was always my Aunt Char, as I can see even in my baby book when she
wrote a typewritten congratulations note full of news and commentary and
questions. When I was little, the visits of your family were part ofthe summer,
swelling the number of playmates from just my brothers and sister to a livelier pack,
especially if the Holm's visit coincided with that of Aunt Ann's or Uncle John's
families.

The Chateau would be a happening place then. My favorite memory of Aunt Char is
from one summer lunchtime when she was there, along with Grandma and Grandpa
Rood. Chicken had been served, and I was invited to have some. I loved chicken and
probably said so, probably complaining, too, that we rarely had it at our house
because my dad didn't like it. I chose a drumstick and took a series of bites out of
the thickest part and considered it eaten. My bites were like those of cartoon
drawings of people eating a chicken drumstick-shaped like a C. Aunt Char took
time to show me that there was more meat on the drumstick. "There's a little bite,"
she'd say, pointing. I'd eat it. She'd take the drumstick back and re-examine it and
say, "There's a bite." I'd see the little tag of muscle and would eat it. We did this
until the drumstick was picked clean of meat, and that's how I've eaten drumsticks
ever since. She did it in a very caring way, sharing her knowledge and also her
priority of not wasting resources. It's probably saved me a lot of money over the
years since I've felt thrifty about how I deal with food ever since that session.

In the years after Grandma and Grandpa died, there were some times when Aunt
Char and Aunt Ann would work together at the Chateau, dealing with the things
cleaned out of the Sunset Street house or that had been at the Chateau already. I
was a teen and found the industry of my aunts admirable and proximity of them a
treat. Aunt Char would be one to pause over a thing and consider it, sort of holding
it so she could see it with the lower half of her bifocals, and then say in rather a low-
pitched voice what it was. She had a ready smile or chuckle if what I said afterward
was amusing, intentionally or not. She was quite casual in what she wore during
those work days, something I have gone on to be myself. I picture her in my mind
wearing a white buttoned blouse.

Aunt Char's letters were frequent in my young adulthood until probably fifteen
years ago when I myself became a mom. Sometimes they were typed, but often
handwritten, sometimes on unusual things. The back of a Campbells soup label
always struck me as her most unique stationery and rather Andy Warhol of her.
When I was an undergraduate, she stuck a $5 bill in my birthday card at least two years running. I felt (falsely) grown up, like I was too old to be getting money in a birthday card, but it didn't keep me from spending it on bulk candy at the MSU Union.

Some of my memories of Aunt Char are second-hand since they came through
Cousin Sally who lived with her and Uncle Bill for a time as a young adult. The gist
of one was that the contents of Aunt Char's refrigerator had gotten away from her
but that she ate something Sally thought was inedible. I gathered that Char was a
good neighbor to her neighbors, and I imagine that, like me, she was always willing
to stop and talk as she tended to her yard. Her letters often mentioned the plants
she'd been working with or the corner ofthe yard she'd been giving attention to. I
always found it a source of interest that she knew Cliff of Cliff s Notes and even did
mending for him.

At Christine and Rick's wedding reception, I was dancing with Cheng, and Aunt Char
was smiling very happily from where she was seated near the dance floor. I had the
strangest feeling as I danced past that I was looking at myself. The family
resemblance was strong enough to startle me.

My memories of Aunt Char are too many to be recorded, but she has done a great
deal of recording herself. I have her letters over the decades, and I offer them to
you, Christine. That would require some sorting on my part, but if you would like
me to do that before the memorial service this summer, I will. Just let me know.

I wish you and Rick very well as you go forward into new patterns that don't involve
stopping at Luther Manor frequently. Thanks for keeping in touch with my dad
over the years. He's enjoyed his niece "Chrissy" or "Chris" (though not, alas,
"Christine") and I'm glad we've all been family.

Love,

Laura